He leaned close to her face and spoke clearly and slowly, as if talking to a child. "In case you missed it the first time, the case is closed. C-L-O-S-E-D." The hard edge back in his voice, he rolled the papers in his hand and squeezed them in one tight fist. "Leave it alone, Ericsson. It's my case, and it's done."
He walked out and left Erin alone in the briefing room. She felt dirty somehow, complicit in the murder of Dolores Johnson. Storming from the building, she seated herself in the front of her cruiser and gripped the wheel of the white Dodge Charger. Like a mobile office, it was tricked out police style with lights, siren, augmented suspension and a compact Plexiglas shield for prisoners in the back. Usually she loved to drive it but today she was having trouble appreciating the perks of the job.
Two fender-benders consumed most of her morning. The sheer number of car accidents in this town continually amazed her. How in the world did one manage to hit the only car for blocks, or back up into the only other car in the grocery store parking lot? It was nearly noon by the time she had freed herself from the paperwork, the inevitable tracking down of insurance and licensing information, and the dismayed owner of the parked car. The Big City PDs didn't even bother with this stuff. They merely told the drivers to come in and fill out their own paperwork for the insurance companies to battle out. Not here. We still pride ourselves on service to our community.
Eager to get back to the Johnson property, Erin pulled into the station to grab her lunch first. She stopped abruptly at the entrance to the coffee room. Derek sat polishing off the last of her chicken salad sandwich, the Ziploc bag she had packed it in sitting in silent accusation. Surprised, he brushed crumbs from the table.
She glared at him and opened the fridge where her crumpled lunch bag sat. The only thing left inside was her apple.
"What the hell, Derek?"
"What?" he said innocently. "Ain't no big deal. I was hungry."
"Are you the immature bastard that has been stealing my lunch all summer?" It had been especially infuriating to come in and find her lunch ransacked nearly every week. He never took the fruit, but always ate her sandwich, and the little cheese sticks were the first to go. "Why is it always my lunch you're stealing?"
"Have you seen what Z-man has in his Tupperware?"
"No!" Unlike him, she did not snoop in others' lunches.
He snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "Anyway, you bring the best stuff."
She wanted to punch him. They gave this man a gun and trusted him to serve and protect. He was a petty lunch thief! And was that her lost ballpoint pen peeking out from his pocket? She snatched it back before he could protest.
"You've got more money than me," he said. "You can go buy lunch. I have a starving wife and kid at home to feed." He shrugged and attempted a belch but it came out as more of a defiant squeak.
"And a big house and a brand new waterski boat!" she finished. "Unbelievable. You owe me."
"But the bank owns those…"
Stalking out of the coffee room, she stepped around the eavesdropping janitor in the hallway. She felt a modicum of guilt over the dirty looks she'd been wrongly directing at him. Right now she was too angry to stop and apologize.
Gas pedal to the floor, she drove aggressively over the bumpy road to the Johnson property. Beside her, a plastic wrapped ham sandwich from the Sportsman's Stop 'N Go bounced on the seat. The fizzy burn from a bottle of Coke helped soothe an angry lump in her throat.
At the end of the driveway, she parked and mentally mapped out a grid pattern. Her starting point would be the ominous mound of soot and debris. She began by snapping a few general photos with her iPhone. There had been no basement in the old bungalow and she stepped over a short concrete foundation that now served as the perimeter for the charred remains.
She looked at her boots covered in ash. The kitchen had been here, at the rear of the house. A gas stove now sat cockeyed at ground level, having fallen through the floor where it had buckled. She brushed soot off the front end with her bare hand and examined it. A nefarious scenario played out in her mind as she took close-up photos of the ends of the burner tubes. The plastic knobs had melted off but it was patently obvious that all four control valves had been in the full open position.
Metal legs of table and chairs poked up, everything covered in a thick layer of black soot. There wasn't much else to see and she couldn't differentiate one blackened shape from another. She did remember something about fast fires creating a hump-backed charred phenomenon called alligatoring on burnt timbers. The effect is more severe closer to its origin. That confirmed that this explosive fire started in the kitchen. The gas stove. She wished she'd paid more attention to arson investigation during her classes at the academy.
The rest of the house had been reduced to ash, except the blackened brick chimney, which still stood tall. She scraped debris away from the front and took a peek inside, but didn't really understand what to look for. Surely she'd know it when she saw it.
She stepped back over the foundation wall and wiped her boots on the grass. Soot had powdered her uniformed pant legs nearly to her knees and they would need to go directly into the washer at end of shift. A few steps away from the house, she considered the framework for the back porch. The angry lump resumed its position in her throat.
Someone had turned all the gas burners on. It was dark. Dolores didn't have a chance. The moment she hit the light switch, an electrical arc was created when the circuit was completed. This spark had ignited the gas and the whole place exploded in flames. Derek had told her earlier that they had found Dolores' charred shoes standing on the top of the step, as if she'd just stepped out of them to put on her slippers. The shoes were in an evidence bag somewhere down at the station but the mental image left behind was eerie. Erin hoped the end had come fast, for Dolores' sake. She took a deep breath and swallowed the jagged lump.
Bordering the drive, a stand of mature poplar trees stabbed blackened tops skyward. Below these ominous sentinels, she searched a tight pattern back and forth across the yard. Every piece of debris, every discarded wrapper flying on the wind was examined. With no outbuildings, it was a straightforward process.
Around back, a small raised garden bed still held vegetables. Unwatered for days, they withered in the summer heat. So sad and untended, Erin was compelled to water them, but there was no garden hose and no water. An old hand operated water pump sat nearby and Erin pumped the handle a few times but was met with a grating screech. The well, dried up years ago, had been kept around for sentimental or decorative reasons.
The back gate on the white picket fence hung open, but it was hard to tell if someone had passed through recently, or if the emergency crews had simply left it that way. Dolores would have kept it latched to keep out animals intent on her vegetable patch. She exited the gate, walked along the well-beaten trail that skirted the bog and doubled back following the fence line. Tufts of grass and brush bordered the fence on the outside, while inside the yard, the grass was trimmed as neatly as a golf green.
Was Derek right? There was nothing out here but mosquitoes and weeds.
She was on her way back, only a few yards from the open gate, when a metallic glint in the brush caught her eye. She used her boot to separate tall grass and dropped to one knee at the side of the trail. Concealed in the brush sat two shiny beer cans, one upright and sealed, but the other keeled over, almost empty. Red and white Budweiser cans. In a flash, she remembered the can Allie had spent so much time looking for at the barricade. The can Erin had unceremoniously tossed into the ditch, glinting red and white in the moonlight.
From her position, she found herself with a perfect view of the charred back steps to Dolores' house through a gap in the brush. The weeds lay flat in a semi-circle at her feet. Someone had spent time here, and had planned to spend more time before they were interrupted. She unfolded an evidence bag from her pocket and carefully retrieved the cans. This was something. Better than the nothing Derek had come up with.
>
On her way back in the gate, she made sure to latch it securely. As she walked to her car, she slapped vigorously at her pant legs until soot clouds rose around her and crusty black particles rained down. With ash in every pore, she wiped the back of one hand across her brow to staunch the flow of sweat stinging her eyes.
She had just placed the evidence into a box in the trunk when another patrol car pulled up beside her. The crewcut young officer behind the wheel rolled down his window and hailed Erin.
"You are walking a thin line, my friend." Chris Zimmerman, known as Z-man, or just Z to his friends gave her a conspiratorial wink. "I didn't think you could resist mucking around out here the first chance you got," he said. "You are like a dog with a bone, but you should learn to keep your theories to yourself at the station. This is Derek's investigation and he's convinced the rest of the crew you might be a little bit insane." He pinched air between index and thumb.
"I know what I'm doing out here, but what are you doing out here?" she countered.
"I'm your wing man, girl." His baby smooth face broke into a wide smile and then his expression melted to a more somber one. "Besides, I knew Dolores too, and I'm not buying it that she was a forgetful old fool who died accidentally. I think there's more to this story."
"Are you sure you want to get mixed up with me and my crazy theories?"
"Game on." He winked at her again. "Have you found any evidence Derek missed?"
Erin had been on the same patrol crew with the slightly quirky Officer Zimmerman since she'd been hired on the department. Despite his eccentricity, they had always worked well together. He was intelligent, loyal, hard-working and a solid investigator. She had implicit trust that he would watch her back.
"I'm not sure," Erin said, "but I think someone has been watching the house from the bog side. I found a little spot where the grass was flattened and I picked up a couple of beer cans. Maybe Kathy in Forensics can get some prints." She sure hoped Kathy was working today. Dave was the only other Forensic Tech, but she had less faith in his skills.
"Interesting." Zimmerman, steepled his fingers and squinted his eyes in a parody of a comic book character. "Anything else, my little sidekick?"
"No, you're the wing man this time, remember?" She loved the wacky repartee they had. It made working together so much more rewarding. "That makes me the superhero."
"Foiled again," he quipped. "No, seriously, Superchick, what else you got? Someone drinking beer out by the swamp is not quite enough for a murder investigation."
"It's Wonder Woman, and I also took some close-up photos of the gas stove. All four burners were cranked wide open. That did not happen by chance when the stove fell through the floor. Someone turned them on deliberately." She handed him her iPhone and he zoomed in on the pictures.
"Dolores was totally obsessive-compulsive," he said, startled. He handed the phone back. "She checked things two or three times. She never would have left the house with the gas on, let alone all four burners on high!"
"Exactly."
"Compelling evidence, but still not much to go on. What can I do to help?"
"You've got confidential informants out there," she said slyly. "Can you keep your ears open for any info on stalkers? Whoever did this likes to watch. Somebody must know something about this guy."
"Will do." Zimmerman rolled his window up halfway. "But keep your head down, Wonderpumpkin. You don't want to get on Commandante Derek's bad side."
"Too late. How's your mom doing, by the way?"
He rolled his window back down and leaned his elbow on the frame. "She's fine. She was having a meltdown thinking she was allergic to my new pet, but the doc says it's a garden variety flu. I built her a command center in front of the TV when I left. She has juice, snacks, a Stouffer's lasagna for the microwave, and her purple fuzzy blanket. It's only a few steps to the bathroom and it's the best I can do for now. She's convinced that she has the plague but she will be fine in a few days."
"You're a good son," Erin told him facetiously. "How many lizards did you bring home this time?"
"Just a cute little veiled chameleon I named Picasso." He cupped his hands as if holding a tiny bird and his eyes had the sloppy look usually reserved for babies or puppies. "He's an awesome dude but man does he eat like a monster! His tongue is twice the length of his body and he can snatch a cricket from your fingers before you know it! He totally creeps my mom out with his independently moving eyes but that is unquestionably his best feature."
"Yeah, I'm sure your mom is impressed."
"She'll get used to him. Picasso is a lot nicer than my first pet. When I was about twelve, a guy sold me a Green Iguana that grew to like four feet long! He took over our house and I always had cuts on my hands from his sharp spines and talons. Iggy terrified my mom."
"Iggy?"
"Yeah, Iggy the Iguana. Give me a break, I was only twelve. Anyway, one day Iggy escaped and started a fight with Princess, the neighbor's Schnauzer. Princess was tougher than she looked and that was the end of Iggy. I cried my eyes out and my mom made me a special dinner that night. I thought she was trying to console me, but in retrospect, I think she was celebrating."
"That's hilarious!" Erin's sides shook and she struggled to stifle a laugh. "I mean, so very, very sad for you."
"Yeah, laugh it up, Captain Lizardhater." He put his foot on the gas pedal. "Reptiles are the misunderstood souls of our world."
"See you later Zeeeeeee!" she cheerfully called after him, but he was already rolling up his window.
Back at the station, Erin tossed the wilted ham sandwich from her car into the garbage dumpster. Sweltering in the blazing afternoon sun on the front seat of her cruiser, it was probably teeming with potentially fatal bacteria by now. And it looked gross. Hunger gnawed at her but she was too tired to care. She descended the back stairs to the small Forensic Lab and swung open the metal door.
"Anybody tell you that you look like a chimney sweep?" A white-coated woman emerged from the computer lab and met her beside two spotless white-topped evidence examination tables. She plucked an antibacterial hand wipe from a dispenser and dabbed at Erin's face. It came away blackened.
"Funny, I just talked to Z-man and he didn't mention that." He'd probably been laughing about her soot smeared face for the last fifteen minutes.
"Can I make one guess where you've been?"
Erin eyed the forensic technician with a tired smile. "Kathy, I have had a weird day." She held out the evidence bag.
"Well, what has my favorite girl brought me?" Kathy Banks, a short bubbly redhead with an impish smile and a face full of freckles, was the most cheerful and optimistic person Erin knew. Kathy was gleefully in her element when crawling around a filthy crime scene on her hands and knees in a white biohazard suit.
"I need these checked for prints, and maybe - DNA?"
"DNA?" Kathy laughed. "Not a chance! Do you have any idea how much that costs? There is no way I can squeak that through." She looked steadily at Erin. "Since that fire was Lieutenant Peterson's file, and it was closed yesterday, I am assuming you want this off the books?"
"Please?" Erin was ashamed that it came out a little whiney. With the stress at home and wading around soot and weeds all afternoon, she was feeling the lack of sleep from the night before.
"Don't worry sweetie," Kathy patted her shoulder. "Of course I'll check it for prints." She took the bag by the top corner and studied the contents through the transparent plastic.
"I wish it had been you called out to the Johnson fire. Dave is okay, but he's just not—well, he's not you." She knew that Dave spent more time honing his social skills than he should when he worked a crime scene. In her estimation, that meant more chances to miss things. She turned to leave but Kathy called her back.
"I have a few free minutes. Why don't I have a look at this right now?" she said.
Erin's heart raced. She matched the forensic tech's jaunty pace back to a room informally known as The Powder Lab, a separate ro
om with melamine and wire grid topped tables equipped with down draft vents. Kathy snapped on a pair of latex gloves and gingerly retrieved the two cans from the evidence bag. She adjusted a dust mask over her mouth and nose and flipped open the top of her dusting kit, selecting a plump brush and metallic gray powder from the row of little bottles. Erin bent into a half-crouch to observe. She was always fascinated by Kathy's skills. It was like watching a magician make the impossible appear.
"How is your new girlfriend liking Minnesota? She seemed so sweet when I met her at the grocery store. I bet you two are as happy as a couple of newlyweds."
"Okay, I guess." Erin didn't talk much about her personal life at work, but Kathy was different. She didn't feel like merely a work associate. She felt like a real friend. "I think Allie misses the convenience of the big city," she said evasively.
Kathy glanced up at her and then back to her work. "Well, these cans have been handled a lot, in hot sweaty fingers. Most of the prints are overlapping but I'll grab them anyway."
Erin's optimism deflated and she stood to leave.
"Don't write this off yet," Kathy reassured her. "I'm good, remember? I'll have a better look after I enhance and enlarge it on-screen. There might be something I can work with."
Erin nodded but the optimistic adrenaline burst evaporated and fatigue returned.
"I'll let you know if I come up with anything, and you can make me one of those super-lattés you are famous for."
Derek was waiting for Erin outside the dispatch office at end of shift. "Where have you been all afternoon?" He stopped, studied her pant legs and his neck turned a mottled shade of red. "I should write you up for insubordination."
"Go ahead, you immature lunch thief." She defiantly met his eye, but he stared through her, like she was a mere housefly. Then he turned and brusquely walked away.
Erin took her time in the locker room, carefully stuffing uniform pants into a plastic bag. Wisps of soot wafted out the top of the bag and she quickly knotted it closed. Her stomach gurgled and she gathered her things. When Derek assumed permanent command of her crew, she could always put in for a transfer. Maybe she would apply for the Forensic Identification Unit. Dave was nearly burnt out and would be leaving soon. It would be pleasant to work with the effervescent Kathy. She was still mulling over her options when she spotted her truck in the parking lot.
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